


Quiet (before the storm)

by Nemuresu



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, F/M, Light mention of (unclear) spoilers, No Spoilers, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), for mood's sake you know, i don't know how to say this but like, intentionally fucked up punctuation, the conversation before the big battle at the end of Mass Effect 3, vague sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemuresu/pseuds/Nemuresu
Summary: in the quiet before the last battle, Garrus talks to Shepard about kids. The answer is... less than ideal. But what else was he expecting?(A love letter to Renegade Shepards, because my Shepard is a bitch and I like her so much.)
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Quiet (before the storm)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ended up being written because I was tired of reading about sweet Shepards, and/or Shepards who were down to have kids with Garrus.  
> My Shepard is a dick, and I love her for it. Nothing more fair than Garrus to love her for it too.

“us? parents?”

her bark of laugh breaks the solen atmosphere like a gunshot

“we aren’t cut out to be parents.”  
she says, and while there is still the edges of amusement on her lips, her words are as sure as her bullets

every bit as deadly too.  
“two trained killers are more than enough for a family.”

Garrus doesn’t know if he loves that about her or not.

it's silly, he supposes

them here, on the battlefield he is (more than usual) certain will be their grave, and hearing him ask her for kids.

Shepard with her hard lines of armor and razor edge smile has never screamed motherhood.

never whisper it either, for that matter.

but in the end, kids aren’t just kids. they both know it.

kids are a promise of a future.  
for the galaxy, sure; but for them too.  
mornings filled with too sweet cereals and nights helping with homework.  
being called in to school to receive an award or to deal with the lastest mess junior pulled.  
a future with no escape hatch. with problems you can’t solve with a gun. with calm and quiet and _love_ and

Retirement.

Yet

she shoots it down with the same precision she has shooting down husks  
and Garrus doesn’t know if it hurts because he wishes she hadn’t, or because he knows it’s true.

neither of them is built for kids.

skin too rough, empathy too used to walking the thin line of worrying about the big picture, brains too used to catastrophes to dial back from counting body count in hundreds to worrying about one small being

“how about a vacation, then?  
you… me…  
cocktails…”

her eyes crinkle and he’s been with her long enough to know that means her mind going to places it probably shouldn’t in a place so full of people like this.

it’s rare they have the time to indulge that look of hers, but when they do…  
well, it’s always rewarding.  
“settle down long enough we decide to try rooms other than the bedroom?”  
he nods and she laughs.

longer this time, the hard mean edge almost smooth.  
her grin is wide, and her skin crackles, the cracks seeming wider now, with that constant red glow that won’t let him forget she’s been gone once before.

that won’t let _her_ forget.

“we’ll see about that”  
she throws out with a wink.  
a punch rather than a bullet.  
it's as kind as she gets

so he takes it.

he takes it and cradles it to his heart.

let her reassure the rest of the world  
she can be unsure with him.  
she can say it, and it’ll hurt, but he can take it.

he knows she’s hurting too.

so her hoping they’ll have the time…

it’s enough.  
more than enough.

it's all he hopes for too.

she kisses him.  
grip sure and rough. almost desperate.

the grip of a drowning woman.

he hopes one day she’ll have more oxygen than just him.  
but for now

he pushes the thought of children, cocktails and sex  
 _(promises they care too much to commit to)_  
to the side  
and picks up his gun.  
finger sure on the trigger,  
vision clear through the scope.

This battlefield isn’t home,  
but walking through it,  
wetting the ground wet with sweat and blood and whatever else that comes their way  
_-watching her back-_  
is the only way he knows to tip the scales towards them having one.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! And if you are ever so inclined, you can also hit me up at [tumblr](https://awkward-screeching.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sorrymanatee)~


End file.
